Bleeding Doll
by Jazyrha
Summary: Spitten out by society, andoned, tortured and used, these children had already died once. Now, they are granted a second shot at life: by taking it, forcefully. How could he ever protect a child, designed for the hunt? A Gohan & Piccolo story.


**Bleeding doll.**

_Prologue: __**captured.**_

Through the darkness, he ran.

His lungs burnt in his chest, threatening in all silence to implode. No matter how hard he tried to suck some oxygen into them, it would not work. His footsteps onto the cold ground sounded deafening to his own ears, the way his heart beat in his chest making the noise almost unbearable. Every inch of his body hurt and protested, but he ran. He ran to wherever his feet would lead him, for anywhere would be safer than here.

He could almost feel their breath in his neck, heard the sirens of the cars, the blue lights showering the dark alley in light. He cursed under his breath. He didn't look over his shoulder, for only the road ahead mattered. Only the way his feet kept moving despite the pain was important, because it meant escape. Freedom. They couldn't catch him. They would never catch him.

He was unstoppable. He was uncatchable. He had laughed at their faces, screwed with their law, broke all the rules. But now they were on his heels, and for the first time he knew he could not escape. There was no escaping, but he refused to give up. It wasn't like him. The thought of rotting his days in a cold, dark cell that would be crossed within two steps gave him renewed energy as he fled.

Through the dark he saw the wall approaching and he cursed again, barely audible to himself. The footsteps behind him became louder, the panting breath almost painfully close. He came to a halt so sudden he thought the person following him, that damned person, would stumble over him. He took a deep breath, felt like burning his lungs while doing so and looked around him almost feverishly. His heart raced in his throat, his legs trembling. He narrowed his eyes, trying to find a way out. As long as he stayed calm, he would find a way out. He had to.

It had been such a fun game; it couldn't end here and now.

"Forget your running!" he heard a voice shout, and as a reflex he ducked behind a few trashcans, made himself as small as possible and waited. He tried to calm his breath. This was nothing for him, running and hiding, but when one did the deeds he had committed it quickly became a part of one's life. He grinned into the dark.

"I know you are here," the voice said again.

He bit his lip when he recognized the voice. It had been the voice that belonged to the man who had been chasing him for so long now.

"It's been three years, Piccolo," the man continued, "don't you think you've been hiding long enough? This time we have you cornered. I know you are here. I can hear you."

He's bluffing, he told himself as he held his breath painfully long. Not daring to move, he waited and waited. The man did not move. Piccolo's dark eyes scanned the dark, for a way to escape. The only way out was past the man, or over the wall. He slowly turned his head, eyeing the wall. He could make it. He narrowed his eyes further, nodding mentally. Yes, he could make that.

He wouldn't let it end here and now. Not like this. Confident now he had a way out, he stood up, kicked the trashcans out of the way. The man in his blue and white police uniform jumped up.

"If you were so sure where I was, Goku," he said smugly, "then why are you jumping up like a school-girl?"

There was a deadly silence filling the alley. There was no one but them, the sirens seemed strangely far away. Goku glared at the man before him.

"This is the end," was the only reply he got. "I won't let you frighten the people on the streets anymore! I won't let you continue this path of destruction!"

Piccolo laughed a hollow, meaningless laugh. He slowly stepped closer to the wall, and a lamppost. The light washed over him blindingly, and he stood there, unafraid and unmoved.

"Of course you will let me continue," he answered back. "You cannot stop me."

There was a little hook, barely visible sticking out the wall. Thick electric cables hung over them, looming and dangerously. He could smell the rain. Goku narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. One hand flew to his gun as he pulled it out and aimed at the tall man before him.

"You have a sick sense of humour," he informed him.

"I've been told," he answered back coldly, "but Goku, let me in on a secret."

He took another step towards the hook. His eyes were focused solemnly on the agent, distracting his attention. His breathe still burnt in his lungs, but he commanded himself to stay calm and collected. Goku eyed him with a mix of confusion, fright and hate.

"This game isn't over until I say it. I hope your wife is doing well," he smiled.

Goku took a surprised step back, and that was all Piccolo needed. A single second.

Before Goku could threaten to kill him if he even so much as looked at his wife, Piccolo jumped up, placed his foot on the hook, pushed himself off the wall again and grabbed the electric cable. With a forceful, strangely elegant swing he flung himself over the wall. He heard Goku curse loudly and he laughed again. The man would never learn. He was always afraid, he had known from the very start, afraid to kill. He always would give a second chance, a second too long, would always fall for the same tricks.

With a soft thud, Piccolo's feet hit the ground. He rolled over his shoulder, breaking the fall and pushed himself back up. His chest heaved up and down heavily. Not wasting another second, he continued running, more dragging himself forward than actual running. He was tired. This night had been way too close, way too rough.

Sometimes humans were just way too emotional and exaggerating. He heard a thud behind him. He rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of the police agent. He had thought that little remark about his dear beloved girl at home (even though she was absolutely safe ... for now) must've sent the agent running home. But apparently restoring the huge bruise on his ego and capturing the fleeing thief was more important.

The first raindrops started to fall. He had been waiting for the rain. He had smelled it coming, had heard it rumble. There would be a storm tonight; the world would shudder under the violent downpour. Their stupid dogs wouldn't be able to smell him anymore, and the man wouldn't be able to run as fast anymore. He was used to the rain, and it did nothing to him.

He loved the smell, loved the sound. It was soothing. The rain intensified and soon he was soaked in water. Mud and water splashed up with each time his feet hit the ground. A tired, confident grin came upon his face.

He would not be caught tonight. No one could catch him, never had, never will.

"Stop it, Piccolo! You cannot escape! Just turn around and put your hands where I can see them!"

Piccolo ignored the shouting man behind him. He knew there would be no wall here. He knew he'd be able to flee. He was so close, so close to a place where he could wait for the man to leave.

Tonight would be another night of almost being captured.

"I command you to stop! It's been enough! Enough!"

His shouting echoed on the wall, but Piccolo did not react. It was not enough. It wouldn't stop. It would never stop.

A gunshot resounded through the air.

Pain flashed through his leg. His eyes widened and he stumbled, rolling into the mud. His back hit a wall and he came to a stop. Pain waved through him with each breathe and it didn't take him very long to realise he had been shot.

The agent had shot him. Footsteps came closer, as he tried to swallow away the pain. He wouldn't be a pathetic moaning loser upon the wet, muddy streets. If this was the end, he would go down with dignity.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, moving his leg accidentally and another wave of pain flashed through him.

"This is the end," Goku's serious voice cut through his ears. "Because I say it is."

He gritted his teeth. He pushed himself up, using the wall and his other leg as support. He could see the gun pointed at him, and Goku's trembling arm. The stupid fool. His dark eyes were full of fear, directed at the thief. There was hate, too. Piccolo grinned. With a swift movement he grabbed gun he had been hiding and aimed it carefully at Goku.

The little laser placed an agonising red dot between Goku's eyes.

"You see, we have a problem now, don't we?" Piccolo started.

He could hear Goku's heart beating in a frantic speed.

"Since, let's be honest, you and I both know I'll be the first to pull the trigger. After all, all you will be is just another death body to me. You'll be forgotten within the hour. But, the thing is, if you pull that trigger, Goku, the guilt will tear you apart."

The black haired man narrowed his eyes, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"You've killed so many innocent people," he hissed between clenched teeth. "I have nothing to feel guilty about."

"No one is innocent;" he said back bitterly, "every single human on this planet is filled with greed, jealousy and an unstoppable hunger for power. The only difference between me and those 'innocent' people of you is that I actually have to power and will to go after what I want."

"They're nothing like you! Nothing!" Goku yelled.

The gun trembled in his hand.

"You _deserve_ to die," he hissed, almost desperately.

Piccolo eyed the man before him, the same cold, meaningless smirk plastered on his face.

"Of course I do, but we both know you are not the one to actually kill me," he answered casually.

Goku's arm lowered the gun. He gritted his teeth. Piccolo smirked smugly. He got ready to pull the trigger, aiming carefully.

A shot fired.

A sickening scream ripped through the air. The walls echoed the gunshot that had been fired. Blood dripped over the street, mixed with rain.

Goku's eyes were wide.

Piccolo stared at him, slowly sliding to the ground with his back still against the wall. He hit the ground, his legs in strange angles. His breathe came out in painful moans, as he shut his eyes against the pain.

"No," Goku admitted. "I can't kill you."

Piccolo clenched his fists, biting his lip to keep him from screaming. The bullets in his legs burned, spreading the fire over his whole body. The rain poured down mercilessly.

"But I can capture you, and I can let you rot away in prison," he ended.

Black spots danced in his vision, getting wider and wider. The world was turning black, softly, as his blood kept dripping onto the streets, endlessly.

"Drop dead," he hissed, the hate dripping of each word.

"Don't be a sore loser now," Goku laughed, his shoulders shaking upward, but there was no amusement in his voice.

Piccolo fought against the pain, his eyes slowly searching for another way out. He tried to push himself up, only to fail miserably. His lips drew back in an animalistic snarl, a grimace full of pain. Goku watched unmoving.

"This is the end," he repeated and Piccolo's eyes rolled to the back of his head as his head hit the cold, wet, grey streets.

The rain pounded down without compassion on the lifeless body.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When he opened his eyes all they saw was white. It took him less than a second to realise what happened, as the pain in his legs affirmed everything. He closed his eyes again, hoping he could pretend to sleep and not wake for ever.

He had been caught. He had been caught by that lousy excuse of a police agent. Ten years he had terrorised the streets, killed and stole all he wanted. He had been free. There had been agents, dozens of them and all of them were determinate to catch him. They had all given up.

Except this one. No, Goku, Son Goku would not give up. He had chased him, three years, and each time he had come closer and closer. Each time he had found a flaw, a little plan. Three years and now it had come to an end.

He never thought he would actually fire the gun he held in his hands. He had underestimated the agent and he had paid high for it. The chase had come to an end and the hunter had finally become the captured prey.

He had to find a way out of this.

"Don't even think about it," a female voice cut through his head, as sharp as a knife.

He opened one eye carefully. Her hair was purple, a violet colour. Her lips were red from lip-stick, her eyes huge under all the make-up. The red dress she was wearing ended right under her bottom and the heels she walked on were way too high. They were so thin it looked like they would snap under her miniscule weight any second. A clipboard was pressed against her chest. A man in a suit, definitely her bodyguard or something, stood a few feet behind her. The man stared at him, clearly amused at his position. It took Piccolo a lot not to hurt him, but his legs and the pain of the previous chase still demanded its price.

"Think about what exactly?" he asked, sounding as unimpressed as he could.

"Fleeing," the woman answered in a high-pitched voice.

A smile graced her lips and Piccolo opened his second eye, looking at her with a sarcastic, indifferent look. The places where the bullets had pierced his skin were carefully wrapped in bandages. The pain had ceased to a dull, stinging sort of pain.

"I'm a criminal, ma'am, all we do is flee," he answered back, faking his politeness. The pain was getting to him and he was not in the mood for make-up freaks who thought they could read his mind and control him.

"But now you've been caught, Piccolo," she pronounced his name carefully, almost mockingly. Another sign of her need to be superior. He knew that if she knew his name, and felt the need to express that, she was pretty sure of herself.

She was pretty sure she was pulling the strings. She wasn't even afraid to mention something as... delicate as that matter.

He gritted his teeth, but a venomous smile was around his lips as well as he answered: "but that can always change, ma'am. Now, since you know who I am, would you be so kind as to introduce yourself?"

She laughed. She flicked her purple hair back. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Briefs Buruma," she said, "but you can call me 'boss'."

He groaned, annoyed by her confidence.

"And why exactly would I do such a thing?" he snarled.

"Because, Piccolo, I can offer you what you are looking for," she smiled pleasantly.

"New legs?" he retorted sarcastically.

She laughed again, her voice high. It took a lot of him not to wince, but instead he just glared at her. She lowered the clipboard and gave it to him. He pushed himself up. The man behind her had not moved an inch, but Piccolo could see how he was ready to jump up any second. The woman must be an important person.

"No, Piccolo. But, as you said before, you are a criminal. As I said before, you are caught. Combining these two, the conclusion would be that you go to prison. Considering your crimes, you will get the death penalty after they made sure you went insane enough in that tiny, little room," she explained.

He didn't react upon any of her words. The thought made him want to jump out of a window, but he stayed still and unfazed. When she realised he was not going to protest, nor agree, she continued.

"Now, what I can do for you, is making sure this result shall not be executed. I can give you a job. And yes, you will get paid rather nicely for it. All you have to do is sign that paper and your crimes will be forgotten like they were nothing," she smiled.

He looked at her. He folded his arms over his chest, raising a brow.

"Why would I trust you?" he said calmly.

"It's the only choice you have," she smiled. "I am not _asking_ you this, Piccolo, don't be mistaken in that."

Her voice was bitter earnest under her pleasant smile and he could see her confidence was not built upon thin air. She was in control of him, whether he liked it or not. He wasn't stupid, and he knew there was no way out of his.

He would kill the woman later, he swore to himself.

"And what is this 'job' I am supposed to do?" he asked, his voice still under control.

She flicked her hair again. It was an annoying habit, he decided and he wrinkled his nose as to tell her that much, but she ignored his hostile attitude. She knew that no matter how hard he'd pretend not to care and no matter how ugly he would look, he would say yes and go through it, simply because he could not do anything else.

"Nothing much. You will be raising a child, that's all," she answered nonchalantly.

He refused to blink dumbly at her, but inside the questions rose.

"I'm not really what you would call a fatherly type," he replied, eyeing the form.

She laughed again, a high-pitched, awful laugh. He didn't wince, but felt like hitting her. She took a chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"No, you are exactly the type we are looking for," she informed him.

He didn't say a word, and she just looked at him. The man still stood at the door without any movement at all. Piccolo made a gesture in his direction.

"Who's he?" he asked shortly.

"That's Vegeta. He's doing the same job as you are. If you agree, he'll tell you what to do."

"And if I don't agree?"

"I've stated this before. You do not have a choice."

"So, let's get this straight. I say 'yes' and sign this thing, I'll do this job and I'll be free... just like that?"

"Exactly like that, yes. It is your only chance on survival," she leaned closer, her danger obvious underneath the glitter. "Just sign and let's get this over with."

She handed him a pen confidently. He glanced at her, than at the paper. Quickly, he read what it said. It was a formal paper, in the most difficult and stupid sentences. It stated how much he'd get paid, a description of his job (though he expected there was a lot more to it). He bit his lip, cursing his luck once more.

He knew he didn't have a choice. She knew it and he knew it. He wouldn't go to jail and rot away there. He grabbed the pen out of her hand and her smile widened.

Feeling he was jumping head-first into the biggest mess of his life, he signed the paper and almost smashed it back at her head. She caught it, gracefully. With a fast movement she stood up.

"Welcome to Capsule Corporation, Piccolo," she smiled. "You can start after your legs are healed."

In the back of his mind, he hoped they never would. The sound of the door slamming close had never sounded so painfully loud.

--

--

Hi! It is me, once more, with a new story! It is obviously going to be Piccolo-centered. I will probably continue working on Paper Wings, as well! Uhm. I haven't decided yet whether Piccolo is human, half human or just his plain old Namek self in this story. Any reccomondations?

It is obviously AU, but if you read it I bet you noticed. Uhm, yes Bulma is Buruma and she is evil. I should've used Piccoro then, but I like using the names I think sound best which is Buruma, Vegeta and Piccolo XD And probably Kuririn or Yamucha. I don't know, I have a lot of planning to do for this fic! It is based upon the plot of Gunslinger Girl, in the sense they are cyborg-kids and they are handled by people.

This story is, once more OBVIOUSLY, about the bond the doll and Piccolo will have. Which makes it extremely difficult to guess who it is? XD If you have any tips/request for a Doll-Puppeteer team, please tell me in a review!

(So far I have Piccolo, and guess who?  
And Vegeta and Trunks.  
And Kuririn and 18, or something XD)

Uhm. Yes, well. Please review?

Updates will be slow! I apologize but I have exams RIGHT NOW!XD

-- Jazy!


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